


Contingency Plans

by Afalstein



Series: Recruitment Drive [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Castle, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Between Seasons/Series, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Multiple Crossovers, Pre-Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afalstein/pseuds/Afalstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson Hunt has friends in dark places, and Beckett's job in Washington had more parts to it than she ever knew.  In the middle of the hunt for Castle, Beckett comes home to find a strange visitor with an offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Old Guard

Jackson Hunt drew a long sigh as he stumbled into the safe house.  He closed the door behind him and locked it automatically as he leaned against the frame and passed a hand over his face.

            “I know you’re there.”  He said aloud, hand still over his eyes.  “But I’ve had a long day and I’d rather not kill someone else.  Any chance you could come back tomorrow?”

            “I need to be in Dublin tomorrow.”  The voice made Hunt start and look up.  “So, no.  But I could check back in a week, if that’d be better.”

            “Phil!”  Hunt chuckled, stepping into the main area of the apartment.  There, sitting in the recliner next to the armory, was his old friend Phil Coulson.  “Should’ve known you wouldn’t let a thing like death keep you down!”

            A curious look of pain flashed over Phil’s face.  “I’m a bit surprised by it myself, honestly.”  He said, rising and clasping Jackson’s hand.  He nodded toward the door, a quizzical expression on his face.  “You always announce yourself to any potential burglars?”

            Hunt chuckled and shook Coulson’s hand.  “Only ones amateurish enough to leave the door unlocked.”  He answered.  “Means they either wanted me to know they were in, or they’re so sloppy they’re hardly any threat anyway.”

            Coulson smiled.  “Didn’t want you charging in here guns blazing.”  He answered.  “One death is enough.”

            “I can imagine.”  Letting Coulson’s hand go, Hunt crossed to the fridge.  “Can I get you something to drink?  There’s not much, but...”

            “I brought a couple bottles of Tapster’s.”  Coulson interjected.  “They’re in the fridge, just save me one.”

            Hunt gave little chuckle of delight as he opened the fridge.  “They really give you the king’s treatment in that SHIELD of yours, don’t they?”

            “Did, anyway.”  Phil shrugged.  “There was a bar on the plane where I was stationed when things... fell apart.”

            “Right.  That.”  Hunt, coming back from the kitchen, shook his head.  He handed Coulson a bottle.  “Heard about that.  Sorry, Phil.”

            Coulson just gave him a bemused look.  “You don’t have to play dumb, Jack.  I know they’ve got you hunting SHIELD agents.”

            Hunt gave a disgruntled snort.  “They don’t know what they’ve got me doing.”  He answered, dropping into another chair.  “If I’m not chasing down SHIELD cells, I’m chasing down the threats that they were handling before we shut them down.”  He passed a hand over his face.  “It’s all a mess, Phil.  CIA’s scrambling for hundreds of spies at the same time as we’ve got thousands of them tied up in Congress delegations.”

            “Shouldn’t you be arresting me?”  Coulson was still grinning.

            “Right, because you’re such a danger to national security.”  Hunt threw his friend an equally amused look.

            Coulson shrugged.  “I could be a Hydra agent.”

            Hunt just snorted.  “If you’re Hydra, than I’m Adolf Hitler.”  He answered.  “Seriously, Phil.  SHIELD and I had our differences, but no one who knew you...”  He shook his head. “You’re less an extreme-measures kind of guy than I am.  And if you’ve been lying to me this whole time, I might as well give up the spy game right now.”

            Coulson smiled but did not offer a rebuttal.  “Been a while, Jack.”  He observed, sipping his beer. “What was it, Heidelberg?”

            Jack gave it some thought and then nodded.  “Right.  Weapons deal with an Iranian businessman.  SHIELD suddenly dropped in and took over the CIA op and wouldn’t tell us why.” 

            “Thought there might be some Tesseract technology involved.”  Coulson nodded.  His eyes grew distant.  “Those were the days.  Spy vs. Spy.”

            “As opposed to now, when they’ve got us handling—I don’t even know what we’re handling anymore,” grunted Hunt in annoyance.  “Seriously, the ops I’ve had to pick up from you boys?  Alien threats?  Norse gods?  Arcane spiritualists?”

            Coulson just grinned.  “SHIELD does—did—tend to deal with fringe cases.”  He agreed.

            “You can keep ‘em.”  Hunt waved.  “I’m too old for this shit.  Give me a problem I can solve with a sniper rifle and a cyanide pill.”

            “Or 17 pounds of C4.”  Coulson noted drily.  Hunt chuckled and raised his bottle.  “Heard about your son,” Coulson continued, looking earnestly at his friend.  “Sounded nasty.  One of your old business partners?”

            “Not so far as I can find out.”  Hunt sighed, his face gaining several years of age.  “It’s more likely someone from his police work.  Why, have you heard differently?”

            Coulson shook his head.  “No word in the international community on either you or your son.”

            “But plenty about me having a son.”  Hunt shook his head at Coulson’s silence.  “Damnit Phil.  I was hoping to keep it quiet about him.  Wanted my son and granddaughter to have a safe life, a normal life.”

            “From everything I’ve heard about him, that’s the last thing he wants,” answered Phil.  He took Hunt’s chuckle as approval.  “Do you think he...”

            “I’ve seen the report.”  Hunt shook his head.  “He didn’t die in that crash.  They probably spirited him away somewhere.  Like I said, it had all the earmarks of a criminal job, not a professional one.”

            “What are you going to do about it?”  Coulson asked.

            Hunt gave an angry shrug.  “What can I do?  I’m half a world away chasing down some... Greek demi-god that your friends were convinced was going to show.”

            “Hercules?”  At Hunt’s nod, Coulson shook his head.  “Didn’t know that program was still running.  After Thor showed up, we figured we might as well check into it...”

            “Well, the agents I rounded up seemed pretty convinced he was coming.”  Hunt answered.  “And the higher-ups don’t want to take the chance.  So I’m stuck following that trail while my son’s squirreled away in some warehouse—or worse.”

            “I’ve got some resources.”  Coulson pointed out.  “You want me to...?”

            But Jackson shook his head. “Rick’s a big boy.”  He answered.  “And his partner’s good.  Good enough for the big leagues, except she likes hunting crooks too much.  He’ll be fine.”  Hunt stared at the bottle for a minute.  “He’ll be fine.”  He repeated.  “Though of course, now that the international community knows all about his connection to me, can’t imagine that’ll last.”

            “Mm.”  Coulson seemed to be thinking about something, but pushed it away.  “I’ll admit, I was surprised to hear about it when I looked you up.”

            “Why did you look me up, anyway?”  Hunt asked narrowly, glancing at his friend.  “I doubt it was to catch up on old times or ask after my kid.”

            A smile.  “Sharp as ever.  First of all, I don’t suppose I could entice you away from the Company?”

            Hunt chuckled.  “C’mon, Phil.  You couldn’t get me to join SHIELD when it was the top of the spy business, what makes you think you can get me on board when it’s on the bottom of the barrel?”

            “The challenge?  Honestly, I didn’t have much hope with that, I just thought I’d ask and see.”  Coulson shrugged.  “We could really use someone with your experience to build SHIELD back up.”

            “You’re building it back?”  Hunt looked up, troubled.  “I might have known.  Never was it easy for you to let go.  Are you sure it’s a good idea, Phil?  You know why I never joined in the first place.”

            “Sure.”

            “I mean, this...”  Hunt proffered the bottle.  “Where did you say you got this from?”

            “The bar on the plane.”  Coulson answered.

“The bar.  On the plane.”  Hunt shook his head.  “Seriously.  That’s the sort of treatment you reserve for millionaires, not spies.  It’s like all you SHIELD types think you’re James Bond.  Bourbon, fast cars, flashy women, ridiculous gadgets...”  He sent Coulson a rueful look.  “Honestly?  I hate to say it, Phil, but honestly it’s not a surprise SHIELD turned out to be full of ivory-tower magnates who thought they should control everything.”

Phil’s mouth tightened, but he gave a reluctant nod.  “I’ve... had to learn some... harsh lessons about SHIELD.”  He admitted.  “It’s not the perfect division I thought it was.”  He blinked.  “Even apart from the whole Nazi-infestation thing.”  Shaking his head, he looked back up at Hunt.  “But that’s the point of building it back up.  Doing it right.  No more ivory towers.  Just protection.  Protecting people from the weird world they’re not equipped to handle.”

“Like Greek demi-gods.”  Hunt grunted.  Coulson grinned.  “Well, I wish you luck Phil, but I’m still not joining up.”

Phil nodded, seemingly unsurprised.  “And if you run across our operations?”

“Hey, if I’m ordered to take you down, there’s not much I can do about it.”  Hunt answered, fixing his friend with an earnest stare.  “But so long as your operations don’t directly conflict with mine...”  He shrugged.  “I’d rather have you out in the field, handling these weird-ass missions than sitting behind a witness’ stand in Washington.”

“That makes two of us.”  Coulson grinned.

“And who knows?”  Hunt continued.  “Sure, I’ll still need to take down the SHIELD cells they send me after, but I can get sloppy in my old age... I might lose a few here and there.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Jack.”  Coulson looked troubled.  “They’d get suspicious.”

“Honestly, with as many SHIELD agents as we’re running down, I doubt anyone will notice.”  Hunt waved off the other’s objections.  “The CIA is going after them because the politicians demand it, but 90% of the agents they’re pulling in are poor schmucks who have no idea about what’s going on, and they’re just burning through our manpower.  The Agency’s not going to sweat losing them.”

“Well... I appreciate it, Jack.”  Coulson still looked troubled, but he subsided.  “I didn’t want to ask, but it’ll definitely help to bring back in agents who know the drill.  But there is one other thing I want to ask.”

“Oh?”  Hunt looked up, interested.

“A deep-cover CIA op.”  Coulson answered, pulling a paper from his coat.  “I want you to see what you can pull the file on the agent involved.”

Hunt took the paper from Coulson.  “Michael Westen?”  He cocked an eyebrow at Coulson.  “He’s dead, last I heard.  What’s he got to do with SHIELD?”

Coulson just smiled.  “Nothing.  Yet.”  Getting up, he downed the last of his bottle and moved toward the door.  “I’ll stay in touch.”

“Right.”  Hunt nodded, looking at the paper. “Hey,” he glanced up, “If you don’t mind... and you have the time... would you mind stopping by New York to check up on my kid’s case?”

Coulson nodded as he passed out of the room.  “I’ll see what I can do.”


	2. Unexpected Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written after the Castle Season 6 finale, which ended with Castle supposedly dying in a fiery car crash. I never bothered to watch much of the 7th season, so I have no idea if this is at all accurate or even plausible, given what was shown. Judge me accordingly.

Detective Kate Beckett did not want to be home.  She wanted to be back at the station calling up leads, or out on the streets beating up informants, or in a bar somewhere drinking away the memory of her gone-horribly-wrong-wedding.  But Ryan and Esposito had both insisted, and Gates had finally put her foot down, and so now she was here, outside her apartment, with a protective detail outside and a bottle of wine in the fridge.  All she could really look forward to doing here was to curl up into the fetal position on the couch and cry.

            But when she opened the door, she found the couch was already occupied.

            The stoic-looking asian woman didn’t so much as blink as Kate whipped out her pistol and pointed it at her.  “You’re late,” was all she said, dropping the magazine onto the end table.  “I’ve been sitting here for nearly three hours.  I thought’d you’d be pulling overtime, I didn’t think you’d forego sleep entirely.”

            “You’re trespassing.”  Kate gritted through her teeth.  It had been a long, bad day, and she was not in the mood to trade quips with a cryptic house-breaker.  That was Castle’s job and Castle... was no longer here.

            “Breaking and Entering, technically.”  The woman shot back.  “And if you keep pointing that thing in my face, you’re going to have to add Assault and Battery to those charges.”

            “This is my house.”  Kate answered.  “I’ll point what I damn want where I damn well please.”

            The woman’s mouth curved.

            “What do you want?”  Kate said, forcing herself to think straight.   “Are you with Mr. Smith?”

            “The information broker?”  The woman lifted an eyebrow.  “No, but I know of him.  My friends have had... dealings with him on occasion.”

            “And who are your friends?”

            “Some friends of your friend.”  The woman seemed darkly amused by the look of frustration growing across Beckett’s face.  “My name is May.  My friends and I were... old acquaintances of your fiance’s father.”

            “Jack?”  Beckett’s gun wavered slightly.  She’d been trying every contact she’d had in Washington to get in touch with the man.  “Is this something to do with him?”

            “Not as far as we can tell.”  May gave a negative jerk of her head.  “Mr. Hunt says he hasn’t heard anything on the international scene about it, so this is likely to be something local.”

            Kate shook her head in reply.  “We’ve been looking locally.  There’s nothing.  The leads just come up empty.”

            “That’s why I’m here.”  May nodded calmly. “We have.... somewhat different methods than the NYPD, and significantly more resources.”  She tapped a small USB drive sitting on the table

            Kate eyed the drive, then glanced back up at May.  “What is it?”  She demanded.

            “Information.”  May replied coolly.  “Surveillence photos, spy satellite imagery, accounts from some contacts in the underworld.  Enough to get you on the right track.”

“And I’m supposed to tell my captain that we can trust this information handed to me by a catburglar?”  Beckett asked.

May shrugged.  “Tell her anything you like.  Say you had a flash of inspiration moments after arriving home.  You’re a clever woman, Detective Beckett.”  Her chin tilted.  “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Beckett was wavering.  A lead.  It might just be the break they needed in the case. What if she passed it up?  What if Castle died?

“Who are you!?”  She demanded, her suspicion still warring against her hope.

“As I said, I’m a friend of a friend of a friend.”  May answered drily.  “Personally, I never even met Mr. Hunt, but he’s done some favors for my boss.”

“And that’s why you’re doing this?”  Kate asked.  “You just... give out classified government intel to whatever friend of your boss needs help?”

May’s mouth curved.  “Whoever said we were from the government?”

Kate stilled. 

“We’re doing this partly because Mr. Hunt is a friend, and partly because helping people is what we do.”  May answered.  Bending to the table, she picked up the drive and stood up, proffering it to Beckett.  “Use it, or don’t.  Your choice.”  One single eyebrow lifted imperiously.  “But at the very least, you should look at the last item... regarding a plastic surgery firm.”

Kate couldn’t take it any more.  She stepped forward and snatched at the drive.

May’s other hand snapped up in a blur, grabbing the barrel of the pistol, wrestling it up and away as Kate fired.  The hand with the drive suddenly closed into a fist, shooting forward to give Kate several sharp raps on the skull, dazing her sufficiently for the asian woman to wrench the pistol from her grasp and turn it around on her.

“Nothing personal, Detective Beckett, but I had a distinct feeling you weren’t going to let me leave.”  May wasn’t breathing hard, her face hadn’t changed in the slightest, her tone was as placid and calm as before.  Her fist opened and dropped the drive onto the floor.  “The offer stands, though.”

Kate was fuming, but she kept her temper in check.  “Who are you people?  What do you want with me and Rick?”

“To help, like I said,” answered May.  She was circling Kate to get to the door, and Kate turned around to keep her in view.  “But my boss did say to leave one parting remark.”

“Which is?”

“You’re a very capable woman, Detective Beckett.”  May answered.  “Put away a lot of powerful people.  Stopped numerous terrorist threats that never made headlines.  Even did some work in Washington, from what I hear.”

“I had help.”  Beckett wasn’t sure whether to feel proud or disturbed.

“Mr. Castle. Also surprisingly capable, from all accounts.”  May nodded.  “Did some work with the CIA, didn’t he?  My point is that such work tends to attract enemies—powerful ones.  Between that and the sort of enemies that Mr. Hunt tends to attract...”  May stopped just in front of the door.  “...if and when you find yourself on the wrong side of authority, detective—keep us in mind.”

May stepped out the door into the hallway and, with a little half-smile, closed it behind herself.  Kate leapt into action.  She dashed for the side table, drew her backup piece, and charged at the door, wrenching it open.

May was gone.  There was no sign of anyone in the empty hallway.  Her gun lay on the floor just outside her door, the jump drive resting neatly on top of it. 

Bending, Beckett picked up the drive and stared at it, considering.


	3. Exit Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU Series Finale. Castle is framed for murder and Beckett is out of options. All except one phone number that she swore she'd never call...

 

            The ‘murder board’ in Beckett’s apartment was full once again.  She’d cleared that board what seemed like ages ago, when she and Castle had finally closed her mother’s murder and brought Senator Bracken to justice.  She’d considered even throwing the board away, but decided not to, telling herself that the empty board would serve as a testament to the lasting power of the law—that in all cases, sooner or later,  justice won out.

            Except now the board was full again, and worse yet, it was full of a case about Castle.  And the more she stared at it, the more Beckett felt that on this case, justice wasn’t going to win out.

            Not Castle’s “murder,” of course.  That was months ago now, solved and filed away.  The case summary, detailing how they’d found Castle safe and sound in a New York warehouse and arrested Dr. Niemann, was tacked on the far left side of her board.

            That was where everything had started.  Beckett was sure of it.  They’d had Castle back in the precinct solving cases again in no time, but they’d never really figured out what had happened during those days he’d gone missing.  But Beckett knew now that it’d been to study Castle, to get enough information for the murders.

            The other murders were all over the board.  Strangulations, stabbings, shootings.  Unsolved crimes that had piled up throughout the year, with no apparent M.O to connect them until the team had finally realized the link—a taste for the literary.  A trail of death, all pointing at one person. 

            Castle.

            It was all there.  Voice transcripts, pictures, eyewitness accounts.  All good, solid evidence that Castle had become a mass murderer with a sadistic streak.  There were even fingerprints and DNA samples found at the scenes.  All good, solid evidence that made no sense if you actually knew Castle. 

            He’d been framed.  Everyone at the 12th knew it.  Somehow, 3XK—Jerry Tyson—had gotten his plastic surgeon girlfriend to completely redo himself in Castle’s image.  He’d probably collected DNA samples to plant during Castle’s imprisonment.  Everyone at the 12th knew exactly how 3XK had done it, and yet it didn’t make a difference, because they couldn’t prove it.

            Many of the murders had been violent and public.  The city had cried for Castle’s head, and now he sat in Riker’s maximum security, awaiting the death penalty.  Martha and Alexis were disconsolate, and though Beckett reassured them constantly that no one had given up working on the case, it was appearing more and more hopeless to her everyday.

            So hopeless, in fact...

            Beckett turned abruptly to her closet and shoved the dresses out of the way, exposing the back of the closet.  Tacked to the wall were diagrams of Riker’s buildings, of the guard rotations, and of different security systems employed in the maximum security wing.

            Beckett swallowed thickly, looking at the prison escape plan she’d outlined.  It’d started idly enough—something to blow off steam when she’d grown frustrated with the lack of progress on the murder case.  She’d told herself it would help to work on something else—it would allow her to return to the murder case with fresh eyes.  But the murder case kept not progressing, and it became increasingly necessary to “blow off steam” in the hopes of inducing fresh insights.  The jailbreak plan was starting to look more promising than the exoneration plan.

            But Beckett wasn’t ready to put it into action.  Not just yet.  Sliding the dresses back into place, she turned decisively toward the door, picking up her at-home weapon as she did so.  There was still one last desperate gambit to try.

* * *

 

            “You’re going to confess to those murders.”  She stated coldly.  It was so bizarre, to stare down the sights of her pistol at the twisted smirk on the face of the man who looked so much like Castle.  “You’re going to confess to them, and you’re going to exonerate Rick.”

            “Or what?”  The smirk that was so distinctly Tyson did not waver.  It made her ten times as angry to see the spirit of a man she loathed in the body of the man she loved.  “You’ll shoot me?  You don’t have it in you, detective.”

            “I’d risk a lot to save Rick’s life.”  She answered sharply.  “I’d rather take you in alive, but if I have to, I’ll drag your dead surgically modified ass into the precinct.  I can always claim self-defense.  Maybe it won’t work and I’ll get jail for life, and maybe it won’t do more than raise ‘reasonable doubt’ in Rick’s case.”  She cocked her pistol.  “Any of those scenarios works for me, really.”

            Tyson’s’s smirk only widened, now to a full-blown smile.  “It seems I misjudged you, detective.  That’s some incredible devotion there.  Full-blown true love.  You’ve inspired me.  Here...” quick as thought, he whipped out his own pistol and pressed it to his chest, “...let me.”

            The shot was fired before Beckett could stop it.  The force sent Tyson reeling, back into the surrounding machinery, toward the enormous furnace behind him.  For a moment he teetered on the edge of its flaming red maw, then, as Becket dashed forward, he lifted his head to look her in the eye—and smiled.

            Tyson fell backwards into the fire.  His clothing practically exploded, as if it had been pre-soaked in gasoline.  Running up, Beckett grabbed him by the legs and pulled him out of the furnace.

            Too late, she saw the damage.  The surgically modified face of Tyson had all been burnt to a crisp.  Its features were hopelessly unrecognizable.  With a sinking heart, Beckett realized the dental records and DNA had no chance of clearing Rick.  She glanced to the side, saw the gun Tyson had shot himself with, and recognized it as her service revolver.

            She stood up and swore.  Already she could hear sirens warbling—maybe they were for something completely unrelated, but she wasn’t willing to stick around and find out.  Picking up the body (her fingerprints were all over it already), she shoved it into the furnace.  Maybe it would burn to nothing before anyone could notice, but she doubted it.  She grabbed the pistol on her way out the door—at the least, it would keep the investigators guessing for a few hours more.

            And she needed those extra hours.  Already as she ran out the door, she was punching numbers into her phone.  “Espo?  Yeah, the thing we talked about with Rick.  It’s happening now.  Grab Ryan and meet me at the place we mentioned.”

            As she jammed the phone back into her pocket, her fingers brushed against a stray piece of paper.  It was crumpled, but there was a number written on it, with a small eagel drawn next to the word.

            Beckett hesitated only for a moment.  Her phone came out again.  “Hey.”  She said into it, as she climbed into her car.  “You said to call if I ever needed anything...”

* * *

 

            Beckett and Castle were halfway across the prison parking lot when the sirens began to warble. 

            “Shit!”  Beckett cursed, and broke into a run, Castle galloping alongside her.

            “Are you sure Espo and Ryan will be all right?”  He asked.  “You hit them pretty hard.”

            “That’s the idea.”  She replied.  “Needed to be real.  They legitimately came to transfer you before I could break you out, but I attacked them and got you anyway.  No blame on them.  All on me.”

            “You shouldn’t have done it.”  Castle shook his head.  “Should’ve just taken the fall.  My best years are behind me anyway, I didn’t really have any good story ideas left...”

            “Really?”  Becket threw him a sardonic glance as they jumped into the car.  “What about that prison crime drama you’ve been talking about for the last three months?”

            Castle actually turned around, as if suddenly remembering something.  “My manuscript...!”

            “Shut up and buckle your seatbelt, moron!”  Beckett yelled, already flooring the gas.

            “Right, seatbelt.”  Castle fumbled at the straps.  “No, but seriously, that story was practically finished anyway.  I’d have had it wrapped up by the lethal injection date.  You know, prison is actually really good for getting work down, when you’ve got nothing else to do in your cell, you get a lot of words down on...”

            “Castle?”  Beckett could see the exit to the parking lot, she could already see the barriers being raised.  They weren’t going to make it out in time.  “Forget what I said.  Leave the seatbelt off.”

            Castle looked at her.  He looked ahead at the swiftly approaching barriers.  He swallowed audibly.  “Oh boy...”

            Beckett’s gun came out, firing holes through the windshield and spreading cracks all along the surface, mere moments before the car crashed into the barriers.  Free from their seatbelts, Castle and Becket went crashing through the windshield, flying over the hood and out over the barrier into the street beyond, hitting the pavement hard.

            All the breath was knocked out of Becket, and her head was ringing.  Black spots were wavering in front of her vision, but she could see the prison guards running out of the parking lot guard booth.  Aiming her gun, she fired in their general direction—not enough to hit, but enough to make them run for cover.  Still gasping for breath, she lurched upright and stumbled over to where Castle was gaping soundlessly in pain.

            “C-c-come... c-come on...” She managed, helping him up.  “G-got... got to...”

            “I... I...” he choked out, eyes gazing into hers.  “I... I don’t think...”

            There was a screech of tires as a limo pulled up directly behind them.  Castle and Beckett just had time to turn before a silver-haired man leaned out of the driver’s window and started firing at the guards.  “Hop in!”  He barked, pointing at the back door, which popped open.

            Beckett was horribly confused, but she didn’t have time to argue.  Half-dragging Castle, she hauled him into the back of the limo.  “Go!”  She snapped at the driver.  The silver haired man gave a curt nod and floored it, one hand still out the window firing at the guards.

            “I... I... don’t think...”  Castle was bent over on the floor of the limo.

            “Take Mason’s off of 32nd and duck into River Alley.”  Beckett looked over at the other occupant of the car, a stunningly beautiful brunette.  She seemed to be talking to the driver.  “There’s a back entrance to the parking structure there, we can change cars.”

            “Got it.”  The man nodded.

            The woman nodded back and turned to Beckett.  “Sorry to be late to the party.”  She said, with a little half-smile.  “But we weren’t given a lot of notice.”

            Beckett nodded abstractly, watching Castle worriedly.  “It’s fine, believe me.  Rick, are you all right?”

            “I... don’t... I don’t think... I can possibly... overstate... how cool that was.”  Rick finally managed to gasp out, looking at her with childlike glee.  He winced suddenly.  “Or how painful.  Let’s not do it again.”

            “Believe me, next time, you’re breaking ME out.”  Beckett allowed herself a weary smile.

            “Deal.”  Castle stumbled off the floor and into the seat, than did a double take at the woman.  “Zoe?”

            “Rick.”  The woman smiled.

            Beckett glanced from her husband to the stunning beauty.  “You two know each other?”  She really wished her voice hadn’t gained that sudden edge.

            Castle didn’t seem to notice it, though.  “She’s Zoe Morgan.”  He said, still panting slightly.  “She’s a fixer for... the rich and powerful.”

            Zoe gave a little smile.  “Mr. Castle once hired me to cover up an... indiscretion of his.”

            “Really?”  Now Beckett glanced at her husband with amusement.  “That sounds so unlike you.”

            “Ha, ha.” answered Castle.

            “No, I mean it.”  Beckett’s grin grew.  “Covering something up?  Usually you’re so indiscreet about your indiscretions.”

            Castle actually _writhed_ under her inquisitive gaze.  “This one was... particularly indiscreet.”  He admitted.  “I’ll tell you later, maybe?”

            “Oh, believe me, you will.”  Beckett promised.  Turning to Zoe, she said, “So, you’re with SHIELD?”

            “Not directly.”  Zoe shrugged.  “We just do favors for them on occasion.”

            “Wait, wait.” Castle’s eyes flew from one to the other.  “SHIELD?  As in, the top-secret, ultra-conspiracy, flying helicarrier SHIELD?  The conspiracy of ex-Nazis hidden in our own government?”

            Zoe and Beckett exchanged glances.  “I... used to work for them.”  Beckett admitted, looking down.  “They helped me find you when you were kidnapped and said to call them if... if I ever needed anything.”  Glancing up, she looked pleadingly at her husband.  “You have to understand, honey, I was in a tight spot.  We’d never have gotten away if not for them.”

            Castle closed his eyes.  He raised his hands to his mouth.  “ _Coolest day EVER_!”  He hissed in exultation.

* * *

 

            Beckett hadn’t the faintest idea how they were supposed to get through security at the airport—Zoe hadn’t mentioned anything when she’d dropped them off—but fortunately the moment she stepped through the doors in front, she saw the asian woman from her apartment, sitting on a bench, reading a newspaper. The woman caught her eye, nodded, and got up, walking casually toward a service door.  Beckett and Castle followed at a discreet pace, and before they knew it they were walking out on the tarmac.

            “You’re lucky we were in the area.”  The woman said to them, guiding them toward a large black-blue jet sitting on the runway.  “Otherwise you might have had to lay low for a few days in a safehouse somewhere.”

            “This... this is really incredibly amazing...” Castle whispered, as they mounted the cargo ramp into the jet, walking past SUV’s and what Beckett was pretty sure was a Bond car reject.  “Like... this is like being in a movie, except it’s real life.”

            Beckett thought she saw the asian woman roll her eyes.  “Wheels up in five.”  She reported, climbing up a spiral staircase at the far end.  “I suggest you make yourselves comfortable in the lounge.”

            _This jet has a lounge?_   Beckett wondered, already following her.

* * *

 

            The jet not only had a lounge, it had sleeping quarters and a mini-bar, along with another half-a-dozen rooms that May ordered Castle twenty times to stop poking his head into.  More notably, though, it had a genial middle-aged man sitting on one of the leather sofas.

            “Mr. Castle.”  He said, rising to shake Rick’s hand.  “Phil Coulson.  I’m a friend of your father’s.  So good to finally meet you.”

            Rick gave a befuddled nod.

            “And Ms. Beckett.  Or should I say Mrs. Castle?  Mrs. Castle-Beckett?”  Coulson turned and shook her hand.  “Sorry, I... didn’t have time to look up all the details.”

            “Short notice.” Beckett gave a smile.  “I get it.  Just call me Kate.  Calling us both ‘Castle’ gets confusing.”

            “Yes.”  Castle gave an affirming nod.  “The folks at the precinct tried the ‘Castle’ thing, but it was just way too weird.  Everyone there still calls her Beckett.”

            “Fine, then, Kate... and Rick.”  Coulson sat down, and they followed his example.  “So glad everything went smoothly.  Seems like it was pretty touch-and-go for a minute there.”

            Kate gave a weary smile.  “Do you maybe have a doctor on board?  I may have cracked a rib or something.”

            “She’ll be up in a bit.”  Coulson touched a button on the side table.

            “Have you heard at all about how things went... with everyone?”  Castle questioned, glancing from Coulson to Beckett.

            Coulson nodded.  “Detectives Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan are currently in the hospital, being questioned by IA.  Chatter indicates their stories are holding up.  Police found the limo you used in the parking structure, but of course, there’s nothing they can learn from it.  Ms. Morgan and her associate are long gone, and they’re experts at dodging the radar.”  His expression fell a little.  “Your... families have been detained by the authorities for questioning, I’m afraid.”

            Beckett nodded.  She’d been expecting it, but it was still a blow to realize. 

            “Mother... Alexis...”  Castle blinked, as if the full ramifications were just hitting him now.

            Beckett placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “They’ll be fine.”  She assured him.  “Alexis is a big girl now... nearly 21.  She can look after herself.”

            “She’s been doing that for years, and looking after mother and me into the bargain.  If anything, her job just got easier.”  Castle smiled sadly.  “It’s just... I just realized I’m probably never going to speak to them again.”

            “Never say never.” Coulson raised a hand.  “It might take a year or two, but my people are experts at making sure secrets stay hidden.  We may be able to bring your families back to you.” 

            Beckett glanced up in surprise.  She hadn’t been expecting that.  “Really?”

Coulson shrugged.  “With a little luck we might even get some of your belongings into the bargain, it’s amazing what bluffing and some official-looking papers will do for you, even when your organization’s authority has been revoked.  We should be able to confiscate some of your things as ‘evidence in a federal investigation’ and get them brought to your new home.”

“Which is... where, exactly?”  Castle raised an eyebrow.  “I... don’t think you ever mentioned where we were going.”

“Malta.”  Coulson answered.  Beneath their feet, the passengers could feel the plane starting to lift off the ground.  “No extradition treaty.  Well, actually there is one with the US, but they never had one with SHIELD, so they’re not likely to look there, and we’ve gotten in good with the locals, so it’s a pretty safe location.”  Reaching into his coat, he pulled out some folders and dropped them onto the table.  “Your new identities. You’re both disgraced former cops now serving as security at our safehouse—it’s ostensibly an Italian don’s mansion.”

“I’ve never been to Malta.”  Castle mused, glancing through the passport.  “Or have I?  Anyway, Italian don’s mansion seems the right speed for me.”

“Former cops?  Isn’t that a bit too on the nose?”  Beckett asked.  “Witness Protection makes a point of requiring people to work a totally different occupation.”

“We’re going for a ‘so overt it’s covert’ approach.”  Coulson raised his arms.  “They’ll be expecting that, so they’ll discount police officers and security officers out of hand.”  He seemed to consider this.  “Hopefully, anyway.”

Beckett watched him.  “You’re sure you’ve done this before.”

“Loads of times.”  Coulson assured them.

“Then explain something to me.”  Beckett leaned forward.  “Why do...”  She gestured at the passports, “...all this?  Why help us escape, why set us up in an affluent foreign lifestyle?  And don’t feed me that line about the son of an old friend and ‘helping people is what we do.’”  She added, as Coulson opened his mouth.  “The son of an old friend doesn’t merit much more than 200 bucks to get him through a tough spot, and if you put all these resources on the line for every sob story you meet, you must either be fabulously wealthy or on the verge of bankruptcy.”

Coulson closed his mouth, smiled, and opened it again.  “You’re good.”  He said.  “Both of you are.  We need people like you.”

“I get to be a spy again?”  Castle’s eyes were round.

Beckett looked less enthusiastic.  “It’s not that I don’t realize we owe you...” She started.

Coulson raised a hand to forestall her reply.  “I know you didn’t exactly enjoy your previous assignment with SHIELD.”  He smiled.  “I read your performance reviews.  Spy work isn’t your style.  You’re a cop, you hunt and catch bad guys, it’s what you do, what you’re best at.”  He picked up a folder on the table and spread its contents out.  “And we want you at your best.”

Castle and Beckett both sifted through the papers.  “Hyper gonadism...”  Castle read.

            “Cybernetic enhancement...”  Beckett’s eyebrows furrowed at another sheet.

“Hydrokinesis...”

“Petrifying touch...”

“Vampirism...”  Castle’s eyes were wide and excited.

“Arcane powers...”  Beckett dropped the sheet.  “Seriously?”

Coulson shrugged.  “Don’t tell me you missed that whole mess with the aliens falling out of the sky and the Norse gods summoning giant flying snakes.”

Beckett groaned.  “Don’t remind me.  He,” nodding at Castle, “was unsufferable for weeks after that, suggesting ‘aliens’ for every two-bit homicide we stumbled across.”

“To be fair, those bank robbers were using alien tech.”  Castle looked up.

“It’s a new world out there, detective.”  Coulson answered.  “Heroes aren’t the only supers out there, we’re getting supercriminals now too.  And to catch super criminals, we need super cops.”

“We’re super cops!”  Castle whispered gleefully to Beckett, who rolled her eyes fondly.  “Going after super villians!”

“ _Criminal_ s.”  Coulson interposed.  “Super _criminals_.  Not villians.  And whatever you do, don’t go giving them ‘fun’ nicknames.  It tends to go to their heads and then they get REALLY problematic.”

Beckett glanced uncertainly at Castle, at if doubtful of how well he’d be able to follow that particular instruction.  “All this information is very detailed.”  She noted.  “But you’re cut off from government databases.  Where’d you get it?”

“We were the people who originally caught most of these people, before they escaped.”  Coulson shrugged.  “But we still have contacts, some of them in the underworld.  A lot of the most recent info on those sheets came from the same people who gave us the info we passed onto you about the plastic surgeon.”  He leaned forward  and looked Beckett dead in the eyes.  “We have intel, detective.  We have manpower.  We’re not looking to be global police, but we are looking to be the special police.”

“That sounds significantly less cool than ‘super cops.’”  Castle frowned.

A slow smile crept over Beckett’s face.  “You want me to catch these guys.”  She said, gesturing at the papers.

“No, detective.”  Coulson’s smile matched hers.  “I want you to _hunt_ them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one time, I considered leaving the series at the end of last chapter, and post a conclusion somewhat along these lines whenever Castle ended. (I still feel reasonably sure that the series will end with Castle and Beckett as fugitives from the law--neither one of them has any plans to retire) But my readers rightly pointed out that that might take a while, and the story needed to be finished.
> 
> This, like the others, was written prior to Season 7, so it does not reflect any of the events of that season. This was how I expected season 7 to go down


End file.
